The War We Bleed For

Smoke blanketed the horizon like a funeral shroud. Ash rained down in delicate flakes. Every breath carried iron, dust, and the memory of screams.

But Nouvo Lakay still stood.

And so did its warriors.

Regrouping

After the last rift closed—for now—the warriors fell back behind the priestesses' formation. The five high priestesses, bloodied and drained from channeling divine energy, stood at the heart of the rally point, forming a living circle of strength.

Zion moved among the soldiers—touching shoulders, whispering courage. His presence was gravity. His silence was fire.

Beside him walked Kasa, flame still faintly coiling around his arms. The Serpent God, now quieter than before, slithered nearby in its ember-born form, small but watching.

"We don't have time to mourn," Ayomi said softly, helping lift a fallen comrade.

"The rifts will open again."

Ayola was already drawing new symbols into the dirt, preparing defenses.

Thalia shouted orders to reinforce the perimeter, while her armor, still etched with Ogou's marks, reflected every bit of flame.

The Enemy Returns

The ground trembled—subtle at first.

Seal froze mid-step, eyes glowing faintly.

"They're testing us. The beasts are moving underground now."

Elis, surrounded by Maman Brigitte's talismans, raised her shovel-staff and slammed it into the earth. A deep hum echoed outward.

Then, without warning—

Explosions of dirt and bone erupted across the battlefield. Worm-like beasts, armored in chitin, surged from the soil. They were not as massive as the gods above, but they were fast. And their mouths never closed.

One of the younger warriors screamed as he was pulled under. Another fell to their knees, paralyzed by a bite.

The Living Wall

Zion stood firm.

"Shields up! Form the Line!"

And the living wall rose—spears, shields, chants. The people of Nouvo Lakay, the allied tribes, and the warriors who had once doubted, now fought shoulder to shoulder. There was no more room for division.

Kasa stepped forward. His voice was low.

"I will burn a path," he said.

And flame burst from his palms.

He wasn't a god.

But he was becoming something ancient.

The Turning Tide

Ayola channeled Legba's mark—portals of light burst open, moving wounded to safety.

Ayomi summoned spirits of the dead to confuse the beasts.

Seal and Thalia struck in perfect rhythm, cutting through a line of creatures like wind through dry wheat.

And Zion, mortal and marked, fought with clarity and rage. His spear cut true, his instincts clean. He led the charge deeper into the swarm.

Behind them, Elis raised her staff and sang to the dead.

"Maman… lend me your silence."

A moment later, a silence fell so deep the beasts hesitated, ears ringing. That breath of hesitation was all the warriors needed.

They struck like thunder.

In the Quiet After

As the second assault faded and the dead were counted, Zion knelt beside a fallen warrior—one of the Velek-Tu who had stayed despite everything.

"This is the price of survival," he whispered.

"And we will not forget you."

Smoke curled above, and for a brief second, the rift in the sky shimmered.

The gods still battled.

But down here, in the dirt and fire, the mortals fought with every ounce of soul they had left.